


Old Flame

by AmberDiceless



Series: Dangerous Omens [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Hellblazer
Genre: Adult Content, Crossover, F/M, Het, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 16:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberDiceless/pseuds/AmberDiceless
Summary: Good Omens/Hellblazer crossover.Crowley runs into an old....acquaintance. O_O Featuring Ellie, succubus on the lam.





	Old Flame

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Strong het overtones and borderline non-con. Also implied pre-Aziraphale/Crowley.
> 
> Thanks to [kerravon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon) for the [podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3698840).
> 
> None of 'em are mine.

"Hello, Crowley...."

The moment he heard those words--delivered in a low, throaty purr that threatened to liquefy his knees on the spot--Anthony Crowley knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was well and truly In For It.

He turned around slowly, knowing what he would see before his sunglass-shrouded eyes fell upon it.

Upon her, rather.

_Ellie._

Chantinelle swayed toward him wearing a poisonously sweet smile, her movements fairly dripping with the kind of languid grace that gave an entirely new meaning to the word _saunter_.

Raven-black hair, luminous eyes, a figure men had killed--and died--for...Ellie came complete with all the trappings that human women were supposed (according to their male counterparts) to possess, and almost never did. She hadn't changed a bit since he'd last seen her, at least three centuries past.

But then, as a general rule, succubae didn't. Oh, they could take any form they damn well pleased, and in fact often did double duty as incubi when the situation called for it. Versatility was essential to their line of work. But when it came to their basic forms, their default mode if you will, Triskele's "girls" prided themselves on looking as fresh and delectable at six thousand years as they had the day they'd signed their contracts, binding them irrevocably to the oldest of all professions.

Even with her allure damped down a bit (to prevent random passers-by from being struck blind) Ellie was an absolute stunner. And, Crowley knew from rather extensive personal experience, the effect was by no means limited to her physical appearance.

Mortified to realize he was blushing, he firmly repressed long-neglected memories of the months they'd wiled away together in centuries past. Though he couldn't deny that the lessons he'd learned under her expert tutelage (and oh yes, he did mean _under_ ) had proved invaluable to his own tempting efforts. All demons were expected to understand and employ at least the basics of the art of seduction, of course, but Ellie...even among the other succubae, she was hailed as a true specialist.

She'd dropped off the radar some time ago, in the wake of a mysterious scandal that was supposed to have been kept hushed up (and so of course had made the rounds from the Ninth Circle all the way up to the First Sphere.) Possibly in hiding, possibly destroyed. Crowley hadn't known whether to be sorry or relieved when he'd heard.

"How are you, Chantinelle?" he heard himself ask, and winced inwardly. It was a loaded question, and the last thing he really wanted to know.

That of course was the problem with succubae: other demons were no more immune to their charms than human males. You didn't _have_ to make an effort; they thoughtfully took care of that part for you. And there was absolutely nothing in Hell's rulebooks (such as they were) to prevent them coming after their colleagues, if they so desired. A perk of the job, he supposed. The only thing that could save you, if indeed you were inclined to be saved, was your own power.

And it had been pointedly demonstrated long ago that Crowley did not possess that kind of power.

 _I am_ so _fucked,_ he thought with a terrible sinking feeling, then cursed inwardly at his own unfortunate choice of words.

Chantinelle laughed softly, walking right up within inches of him without hesitation. "Why, as good as I ever was, Crowley. You can't have forgotten?" She smiled in that wickedly knowing way she had, evoking a dozen vivid, deeply erotic images in the span of a heartbeat. "Surely it hasn't been so long as all that?"

Pulse quickening, he backpedaled instinctively, knowing as he did that it was no use; Ellie had no respect whatsoever for anyone's personal space. Sure enough, she followed along, grinning maliciously, until she had him backed up against the wall of a nearby storefront, fervently wishing he could sink through it without attracting the attention of passing mortals (who, if they took any notice of his dilemma at all, were no doubt cursing him for the luckiest bastard on the face of the Earth.)

She was close enough now that he could feel her heat, smelled her subtle but potent perfume; and his human body reacted powerfully to it all without bothering to consult with him. Not that he'd have been any better off in his own true form.

With the slow and deliberate air of a woman who knows she has a captive audience and all the time in the world, Chantinelle reached up and carefully removed his sunglasses, folded them, and tucked them into his jacket pocket.

Feeling suddenly terribly vulnerable, Crowley swallowed hard, struggling through a thickening testosterone-induced haze to find words that would sound reasonably coherent, and also not convey any unintended double entendre. "I, um. Yeah. I remember," he croaked, his gaze darting frantically away from her full, slightly-parted lips, only to slide down the delicate line of her collarbone and mire itself hopelessly somewhere down the front of her low-cut blouse. "It's...it's been a while, hasn't it? ...Not _that_ long, though," he added hastily, shuddering involuntarily as she closed the remaining space between them.

 _Soft. Warm...oh bloody Heaven, where's the sodding angel when you really need him??_ He caught his breath sharply as Ellie's lips teasingly brushed his own, found their way to a particularly sensitive spot just below his jaw line, and began to work their way gradually but inexorably downward, leaving a trail of tingling sensation in their wake.

He made a small involuntary sound composed of equal parts protest and encouragement as she laid his shirt collar open, and dug his fingers into the brick wall behind him. Ellie could keep a man enthralled with the most maddeningly creative foreplay for days if she so chose, feeding off his pent-up tantric energy all the while; but this blindside maneuver was her favorite approach. She'd carry this through to its logical conclusion right there on the pavement if he let her, propriety be damned, and probably drain him dry into the bargain. When she'd finally tired of him last time, it had taken him _weeks_ to recover, and he'd had to wipe the memories of about fifty people before all was said and done.

Casting about desperately for something, _anything_ to shore up his woefully inadequate defenses, Crowley latched onto the only thought that hadn't been driven clean out of his head by the succubus' advances by that point, and clung to it for dear life.

_Aziraphale._

Clear, impossibly innocent blue eyes. A sweet earnest smile that offered the world and everything in it, but demanded nothing at all. Bright, clean wings.

And strength of Will to spare, when he chose to engage it. Aziraphale would have no trouble at all fending off a succubus' attentions, Crowley was suddenly certain. And he'd do it _politely,_ too.

 _"Nnn--"_ Crowley ground out, wrenching his hands free of their white-knuckled grip on the masonry and seizing Ellie's wrists.

She looked up from methodically unbuttoning his shirt, startled. "What--?"

"No," he breathed, all at once giddy with an entirely different kind of euphoria. He could do this. He really could. "Ellie, no."

Chantinelle stared at him, dumbfounded. "But. You can't--"

"But I am," he said firmly, and pushed her out to arms' length. A heavy, insistent ache remained coiled uncomfortably in his groin and belly, but it was merely a matter of physical arousal now. That he could deal with.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he added almost sincerely. "It isn't you, it's just..." And there he foundered, because now that it came down to it, he really wasn't certain why he was turning her down. It wasn't as though he'd been _entirely_ unwilling, the last time, or hadn't enjoyed it--the lengthy convalescence notwithstanding.

Ellie tilted her head quizzically, searching his eyes; and then a strangely soft, wondering look dawned on her face.

"Son of a...You're in love," she said incredulously.

Crowley blinked. _"What?"_

"You're in love," she repeated, with what sounded like genuine delight. "You are, aren't you? I can see it, just behind your pretty, pretty eyes. And you couldn't turn me down otherwise. You haven't got the gumption, you never have."

Crowley didn't know whether to laugh, sneer or have her head examined. "That's ridiculousss. I'm a _demon,_ for Ssomebody's sake, we don't--"

Suddenly, inexplicably, Chantinelle was angry. "Oh, _don't we?_ " she growled, shoving him roughly back against the wall, her eyes flaring dangerously with infernal ire. He'd forgotten how much strength lay hidden in her fine-boned, seemingly fragile body. "What would you know about it, Crowley? How many demons have you even _seen_ since you landed this assignment? You have no idea what's been going on, no idea at all what can happen if you aren't careful..."

He had forgotten, too, the things she was capable of when angered. He gasped as the full force of her power broke over him like a tidal wave, and for a brief, wild instant he would have given _anything,_ anything at all, to be with her, around her, inside her--would have gladly poured his life force into her, and wept as consciousness flickered out because there was nothing left to give her. But though he tried with the desperation of blind need, he couldn't reach across the few scant inches that separated them; couldn't move at all, without her explicit permission.

"Who is it, Crowley?" he dimly heard her demand. She had him by the lapels, and thudded his head against the brick, jarring him painfully back to a semblance of coherency. "Tell me, damn you! Tell me the name and I'll stop."

He didn't _mean_ to; hadn't even realized until the moment she'd asked that her question even had an answer. Aziraphale's name tumbled out before he could think better of it, or consider the implications, and then it was too late to call it back.

The overwhelming flood of lust cut off without warning, and Crowley slumped to his knees, groaning. _Fuck. I'm getting too bloody old for this kind of thing._

"I thought so," Chantinelle said, sounding resigned. After a moment she hunkered down in front of him, and he lifted his eyes wearily, wondering what imaginative torment she had planned for him next...and whether he had just brought the mother of all shitstorms down on Aziraphale's unsuspecting head.

The succubus was looking back at him with a sad, wistful smile that appeared decidedly out of place on her delicately sinister features. It came to him then that he'd been wrong; she _had_ changed, though he couldn't guess at the nature of the change, or the reason behind it.

"It takes a blessed angel, doesn't it," she said softly, stroking his cheek with unaccustomed gentleness. "Poor Crowley. You have no idea what you're in for. It's a burden I'd spare you, if I could. But then, who knows...maybe you'll find a way to make it work..."

Then she took his face in both her hands and kissed him, and he despaired, lacking the wherewithal to resist any longer. But she kept her power in check; it was almost chaste, or as near to chaste as a dedicated sex demon could manage.

"I won't bother you again," she murmured in his ear. "But I'll be around. Talk to the trench coat, if you ever need to find me."

He nodded, mystified and stuck for a suitable parting shot, and watched her walk away. In moments she was gone, leaving him alone but for the wall, the disinterested passers-by, and a raging hard-on the likes of which he hadn't experienced since...well. Since the _last_ time Ellie had stopped by.

He leaned his aching head up against the cool brick and shut his eyes, sighing.

Clearly, he needed to go and have a long talk with the angel.

The first order of business, however, would be a very, very cold shower.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Old Flame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3698840) by [kerravon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon)




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